Seeing a Vermilion Flycatcher

I did a lot of birding last fall, starting around early September, when the migration was picking up and the weather was not quite as sweltering as it tends to be in July and August.  By November, however, I noticed that I was starting to slack off a little—the peak of migration was over, and I had a lot of other important things on my mind.  A few local birders had seen a rare Vermilion Flycatcher at White’s Slough—a cypress swamp—in Columbus, MS, near the end of October.  This would be a life bird for me, but I had been busy on those days, and didn’t hear about the sighting until fairly late, anyway.  But when the flycatcher was found again on November 2^nd, and yet again on the following day, I decided to make the 20-minute drive to see it for myself.

Since the bird had been seen from Port Access Rd. earlier in the afternoon, I figured that it would probably still be there by the time I showed up, at nearly 4:00 p.m.  I was right.  Only about a minute after my sister (who wanted to be along for the ride) and I pulled into a very un-busy parking area, I spotted a small bird sallying out from a shrubby tree at the edge of the road. 

My first comment: “Well, that bird is acting like a flycatcher.”  Then I lifted my binoculars to my face.  Second comment: “Yep, that’s the Vermilion.”

It wasn't exactly secretive.

I should point out that this Vermilion Flycatcher didn’t exactly fit its name.  It was a female, which meant that it had a peachy-yellow wash to its belly, but no red.  That’s one of the slightly annoying issues with the common names (and frequently even the scientific names) of many, many species of birds: they describe the adult males, but not the adult females or the immatures.  A newbie could certainly be forgiven for feeling confused that a bird with “vermilion” in its common name (and also possessing the scientific name Pyrocephalus rubinus—“flame-headed ruby,” basically) might display not one scarlet feather in its plumage.  Oh, well.  The flycatcher was pretty in a subtle way, with its gray-brown back and head, white throat, white wing-bars, pale eyebrow, and yellow belly. 

No red, but a pleasing color combination, anyway.

The flycatcher darted after insects a few more times before making a beeline to the power lines in a field just south of the slough.  While I was still watching the flycatcher, I also noted other birds, such as hundreds of Double-crested Cormorants flocking into the swamp for the evening, meadowlarks bzzzping as they foraged in the grass, an American Kestrel hovering over a field, and a Mourning Dove perching on a power line.  

Mourning Dove

Besides the fact that this was the “lifer” Vermilion Flycatcher for me, there was another big reason why I was particularly pleased with the observation.  Back in January of 2014, I made an attempt to see a male Vermilion that had been hanging around Noxubee National Wildlife Refuge.  Unfortunately, even though I went to the exact location where the bird had been observed in December, I never saw it.  That individual Vermilion was later found dead—most likely the victim of extremely cold temperatures.  Unfortunately, that’s often the fate of wildly out-of-place birds and other animals.  At the time, I was saddened and a little frustrated, but I was also aware that this was just another part of nature.  So far, it appears that the Vermilion Flycatcher in Columbus this winter has been doing pretty well, so maybe she’ll survive long enough to migrate back to her normal territory.

Although the Vermilion Flycatcher is a rare vagrant to eastern and central North America, its typical range is actually very wide, covering most of Mexico and swaths of Central and South America.  In the U.S., though, it’s usually found only in the Southwest.  I don’t know exactly how one managed to find its way to Northeast-Central Mississippi; maybe it was blown off-course during migration.  At any rate, seeing it going about its normal business in the rather abnormal location made for a great birding day.